


Flight from the City

by elizma_c



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Reunions, a concept: Karen is the one to find Frank after everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizma_c/pseuds/elizma_c
Summary: What are you doing, Karen?she thinks.He might not even be here. Would he even want to see her? What if –The door beside her suddenly swings open. Of course he senses her right away, even as she’s sort of hidden behind the door. He actually puts a hand to his lower back, and she realizes he’s carrying. Of course.“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, but there’s surprise in his tone. “Karen.”Even with the questionably overloaded vital signs her body is displaying, she gets the sickest sense of pleasure that she’s gotten the jump on Frank Castle.





	Flight from the City

In the end, it just comes down to Karen ruffling a few feathers and shaking the right trees to find Pete Castiglione.

Tracking down David Lieberman hadn’t been too difficult, even considering the man’s identity had been all but scrubbed the first time he “died.” She still had the information she’d given Frank, and the rest wasn’t too hard to find. He had a family: a wife with a steady job and children in the public school system. Their new address was all but fair game. Considering she’d never met him before in her life, he didn’t look all that surprised to see her on his front porch claiming to want to do a profile on him. 

He’d exchanged the pleasantries, invited her inside, and wasted no time in telling her he didn’t have what she wanted. 

“I don’t know where he is,” he’d said.

She’d paused, trying not to let her face betray her. “Who?”

He didn’t insult her by playing along with her admittedly shitty cover story. “Look, when Frank wants to meet with me or the family, he’s the one to make contact. Not me,” Lieberman had explained. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t give you an address.”

Karen hadn’t asked him how he knew who she was. She hadn’t asked him if Frank was okay. She had all the questions in the world, but all she asked was, “What can you give me?”

“A name.”

\--

It’s another few days before she tracks down Curtis Hoyle. And in doing so, she finds Pete Castiglione. 

She had found enough out about Curtis online to know she didn’t have to look any further. The website for the veterans’ support group had an address listed, an old church gathering space in the seedier corner of the Kitchen. _But Frank wouldn’t risk his exposure to attend meetings like this, surely?_ her head argued.

_Of course he would,_ her heart responded. 

And that’s how she finds herself on this particular Monday night, standing at the back entrance of the church building, trying to avoid the rain dripping from the awning over her head. She hears a couple people around the corner, exiting the building through the front door. But Frank wouldn’t take the front door, she bets her life on it.

She leans against the dirty brick wall and takes a deep breath. _What are you doing, Karen?_ she thinks. _He might not even be here. Would he even want to see her? What if –_

The door beside her suddenly swings open. Of course he senses her right away, even as she’s sort of hidden behind the door. He actually puts a hand to his lower back, and she realizes he’s carrying. Of course.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, but there’s surprise in his tone. “Karen.”

Even with the questionably overloaded vital signs her body is displaying, she gets the sickest sense of pleasure that she’s gotten the jump on Frank Castle. 

She stands up a little straighter. “Pete.”

As Frank’s hands relax at his sides, she gives herself a moment to look him over. He looks good. His hair is long again but still a little short on the sides, so she can see a scar over his right ear from that bullet long ago. There are no bruises that she can see, which is good. His jaw is rough with stubble. It suits him.

He lets his hands slide into his pockets. “What, uh…” His eyes dart around her, past her, then back on her again. “What are you doing here?”

Karen allows herself a small smile. “Following up on a lead.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up and he shakes his head a little. “Yeah, and what lead is that, huh?”

“You,” she says lightly. “I’m doing a profile piece on dead men reintegrating into society. My first interview was very informative.”

He rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, David can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut,” he mutters.

Karen takes a step forward, out from under the awning and into the rain. “Don’t worry, he didn’t give you up,” she says. “Just some good, old-fashioned detective work.”

He shakes his head again, but that seems to put him at ease. They’re silent for a few moments, and his eyes rake over her face. There’s something there…something in his eyes that reminds her of the last time she’d seen him in that godforsaken elevator. And suddenly her heart is pounding and her pulse racing and she realizes how much you can miss a person that’s standing right in front of you.

_Take care._

“Look, Frank…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Her plan to find him essentially had two steps: get enough information to locate him and then locate him. Nothing past that. What could she say? _I missed you? Why didn’t you come find me?_ How can she possibly make him understand?

But he fills the gap. “You, uh… you want coffee?” he says. “I know a place.”

She sighs in relief. Coffee she can do. “Coffee sounds great.”

\--

As is turns out, the “place” is his apartment.

Frank had led her out from behind the church and down the puddled sidewalks to their destination. They had said nothing, silent except for her heels clicking on the sidewalk. It’d felt strange, walking beside him like that. No secret code designated their meeting. No benches next to the river. Just two people, walking down the street in the rain. 

Even when she’d realized they weren’t headed to a restaurant or coffeeshop, she’d said nothing. She felt like the slightest word could spook the moment into nonexistence. 

As they turn down a narrow street, she sees Frank dig around in his pocket for something and she realizes it’s a key. He stops at a particularly nondescript building, unlocks the door, and leads her up two flights of stairs. They encounter no one on their way up.

Frank unlocks his apartment, holding the door open for her so that she can go in before him. Even if she hadn’t been led to this particular apartment by him, she’d be able to know it was his. It smells like him. _Dust and gunmetal._

He closes the door behind him and walks to the small kitchenette, where he puts on a pot of coffee. Karen sits on the couch, and he watches her as he leans against the counter.

She breaks the silence. “Where have you been?”

“Here,” he says, running a hand along his jaw. “Around, I guess.”

She squeezes one of her hands in the other and cracks a knuckle with the force. “You know what I mean, Frank.”

The coffee drips in the pot beside him, and he looks down at the floor. “Didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“Of course I wanted to see you!” she bursts out. The force of her words are such that she actually finds herself standing. Franks eyes are on her immediately. “Jesus, Frank.” She’s all but whispering now. “You could have been dead. You could have been hurt, I… I had no way of knowing. Anything.”

He’s standing in front of her now. _When did he get to this side of the room?_ He’s not touching her, but _oh_ how she wants him to. “Karen-”

“No, just… Just let me say this,” she says. She squeezes her eyes shut so she can block out the way he’s looking at her. _Take care._ “You and I, this thing… this- this understanding we have between us…” What is she even saying? “You have to know how much you mean to me, how much…this means to me.”

_It means everything._

His hands are on her arms now and she wills herself to focus. “You said that you wanted to keep me safe,” she says. 

Frank interrupts her. “I will,” he says gruffly. “I won’t lose you.”

“And I won’t lose you,” she shoots back. “You can’t take yourself out of that equation. It’s not your call.”

_I needed you. I need you_ now.

She only realizes she’s crying when he wipes a tear from her cheek. “Hey, hey,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

She looks up at him, lets her hands rest on his arms. “You should be,” she whispers back.

Frank pulls her into a tight embrace and they stand like that until he presses a kiss in her hair and says, “This means something to me too.”

When she kisses him, he tastes nothing like what she’d imagined in her dreams. He tastes nothing like blood or darkness or sadness. He tastes like light and comfort and of course that makes sense, like everything Frank Castle’s “after” should be. His hair is softer under her fingertips than she’d imagined. His touch, stronger. His tongue sweeter. 

The coffee pot is forgotten. There’s time for that later.

In the end, she falls asleep on the couch with her head in his lap. When lengthy kisses slow to gentle pecks, and embracing slows to resting, Frank runs his fingers through Karen’s hair and whispers things she’s only ever dreamt of him saying. But their clothes stay on, no grand promises are made, and neither of them dare utter anything about love, and for that Karen is glad.

There’s time for that later, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, my hand slipped. Have some more kastle. I purge my feelings about them on tumblr at @stranger-harringtons. Come say hi!


End file.
